Unspoken
by SubRosa7
Summary: A confrontation and conversation in the healers' tent during the War of Wrath, between the young Lords Elros and Elrond, and Elboron of the Wood. The Elboron who had been born Elured of Doriath, the brother of Elwing and so the uncle of Elros and Elrond.


Title: Unspoken

Warning: AU – Desperate Hours AU

Series within the AU: Tales of the Lost Twins (starts with "What Should We Do?")

Summary: A confrontation and conversation in the healers' tent during the War of Wrath, between the young Lords Elros and Elrond, and Elboron of the Wood. The Elboron who had been born Elured of Doriath, the brother of Elwing and so the uncle of Elros and Elrond.

A/N: This story takes place in First Age year 564. Elrond and Elros are 32 years old. Elured/Elboron is 64 years old. Elves generally reach their majority when they turn 50 years old, and their full physical maturity upon reaching 100 years of age. But with individuals who are almost half-human, like Elrond and Elros, they tend to age much more like humans than elves. And with beings who have at least a quarter of human blood, they don't age quite like elves, either.

Title: Unspoken

The battlefield was horror and agony. The healers' tent after the battle was much worse, at least in the considered opinion of the Laiquendi soldier Elboron. He'd rather be almost anywhere other than here, holding his childhood friend in his arms as she keened in pain.

"Shh, Serenwen." He whispered in the Nandorin language of their shared youth, "Calm thyself. All will be well, dear friend."

Serenwen's pale green eyes flickered towards him, disbelief and fear writ across her features.

He just held her more tightly, leaning forward to press a kiss gently against her forehead. Their faces shielded by the midnight dark curtain of his hair, he whispered, "This day is not your last. You will heal, and live to pester me for many years."

Serenwen managed a laugh which quickly turned into a choked sob. Elboron held her hand all the more tightly, waiting with her for a healer to return to them.

Elboron really did think that all would be well for his friend. True, a bloody great orc sword had cut into Serenwen's side, just above her waist. A rib was broken, at least one. But the wound bled clean, or so it seemed to Elboron. His own twin brother had healed worse, during the years when the orcs' patrols came so very close to discovering their village. And Eldun had not had the aid and wisdom of healers from Aman, some of whom had trained with the Valar, Irmo and Este and Yavanna. Besides that, Serenwen was fully elven, and would heal fast. If Elboron was ever injured thusly, it would at the least be a closer question. For Elboron had been born Elured of Doriath. Elured's grandfather, Beren, had been human. And Elboron sometimes showed the weaknesses of that heritage.

His temper and his impatience, however, he could lay at his father Dior's feet. Or perhaps at his grandfather Elu's. Either way, Elboron was losing patience. He had understood, at first, why Serenwen's care must wait. She was pained, but stable. The blood loss through the clean bandages Elboron had found to press to her side was sluggish, while elves and men had been bleeding to death around them when first they arrived. But now the tide had slowed, and if a healer didn't come to see Serenwen soon, then Elboron would MAKE one come over and care for his friend. He could, if he had to. He wasn't just Beren's grandson; he was Luthien's, as well.

As it turned out, he didn't have to use either his temper or his ...gift of persuasion.

"Hello," a soft tenor greeted them, as a slender form moved to stand beside Serenwen. "I am Elrond, an apprentice healer. Let me see what I can do to help you."

Elboron had been prepared to make a sarcastic comment, but this was the first time he'd ever been face-to-face with one of his twin nephews. His baby sister Elwing's sons. Who had spoken in favor of the monsters who had ended Elured and Elurin's world. The sons of Feanor, who had slain their parents and cut down their guards and nurses in front of their young faces. Elrond, his sister-son, who, along with the other healers, had been ignoring them for the better part of an hour. It was the last which heated Elboron's temper to the boiling point.

"You could HELP by treating her." Elboron said harshly, "We've been waiting here, Serenwen with a bloody great gash in her side, while you and the other blue-robed fools were muttering and studying elves who look PERFECTLY FINE."

Elrond, however, wasn't paying much attention to Elboron. His attention was focused on Serenwen. Elboron was struck dumb for a moment, by how alike this nephew of his was to his own twin Eldun. Eldun who had been born Elurin. Elrond was sweeter, though. Eldun would have been angry at his patient for getting hurt in the first place. Well, Eldun would never have come to war. The first real argument Elboron and Eldun had ever had, was about Elboron going with Fion and Bedwyr to join the war effort. And then about Serenwen joining them, when the War of Wrath dragged on into its second decade.

Nine years later, they were still futilely engaged with Morgoth's forces in a bloody slog along the River Sirion. Elboron was beginning to lose hope that anything would ever change. He was amazed, some days, that the Sirion did not run red with all of the blood that had been spilt into it. Well, red and black both. The humans and the elves bled red, as did the maiar. But the orcs and trolls bled black, black as darkest night. Elboron had always been too terrified to notice what color the vampires, balrogs, and dragons bled. He'd helped to fell them, for he was not as overwhelmed by their foulness as most. But he'd always been too busy to notice the details, beyond the horror and the big teeth and the foul stench.

"You've done very well." Elrond praised Serenwen as he unwound the bandage from the wound on her side, "I need you to hold on for me just a little while longer, please."

Elrond's gray eyes flickered to Elboron then, finally deigning to notice him. "Put pressure...here." Elrond commanded, just as he removed the bandage. Elboron obeyed, in large part because his nephew Elrond sounded so much like his own twin.

Serenwen gasped, and squeezed Elboron's hand more tightly. The pressure he and Elrond placed above and below Serenwen's waist kept the wound from bleeding too badly, but her face still changed from pale to chalk-white. Elrond was just examining the wound, not even stitching it yet.

"Aren't you done yet?" Elboron demanded sharply.

"There's some infection." Elrond murmured in reply, his face intent with concentration.

"It looks clean to me." Elboron countered.

"Mmm." Elrond replied. "Nallos!" He called softly.

An exasperated red-headed warrior appeared at Elrond's right side, clad in healer's robes over his blood-stained armor. Elboron recognized him as one of the young Noldorin King's friends, although the red hair made his eyes narrow. The only other fire-haired elves he'd ever seen had been chasing him, bloody weapons in hand, death in their eyes. His death, or that of any one else who stood between them and a jewel whose appeal the young Elured hadn't even understood. Still didn't understand. Still thought, in fact, that his sister had been a fool to abandon her children for. It had driven them into the arms of the sons of Feanor, it had made them into deluded traitors towards their own people. And soft ones, who had grown up safe and secure in their cousin the King's home, under the care of their great-uncle Cirdan, and in the company of their great-uncle Celeborn. Who was Elured's great uncle, too. Elboron missed him.

At times, Elboron desperately wanted to go to his Uncle Celeborn or to his Uncle Amdir, whom he was sure would recognize him, and tell them everything. About how he and Elurin had been seized by servants of Celeborm Feanorion, after the murder of their guards and attendants. About how those foul servants had carried the terrified twins far into the dark, cold forest, and abandoned them there. About how the mocking laughter of those Noldor as they left him and his twin to die would haunt Elured forever. And even more so the sweet, false entrietes of Maedhros Feanorion, offering them his protection. Elured and Elurin had hidden, and when someone of the Line of Luthien wants to stay hidden, then they STAY HIDDEN. Then Elured and Elurin had fled, wandering through the woods for two weeks, alone and afraid and desperately hungry and cold. The secretive Nandor of the village of Denethor's rest had taken them in, healed them and fed them and loved them and taught them. The elders of Denethor's rest had given them new names, to protect them, and the village. For many years, Elboron and Eldun had lived happily and safely in the village, barely remembering that they had been born to luxury and duty, born the Princes Elured and Elurin of Doriath. How it had been traumatic for them, when the elders took them aside and reminded them of their identities and the fate associated with who they truly were. And of the relief in the faces of those loving elders, when Eldun- Elurin - convinced Elboron - Elured, that they would stay in the village. That what had been forgotten would stay forgotten, and Elured and Elurin would be no more.

Elboron yearned to lay all of this on the laps of his uncles, yearned to be acknowledged and embraced by them, safe again in the circle of their love and regard. Well, as safe as anyone was during this hellish war. But none of that could be, for he had promised his twin, promised Eldun that he would not give them away. Eldun wanted to remain in the village, remain safe and safe-guarding those elves who had truly saved their lives. Celeborn and Amroth and the other Sindar had not saved them, that horrible day when the sons of Feanor came a-calling. But the village of Denethor's rest had saved them. They were safe there, and they kept the village safe. "Of the Line of Luthien" means something, after all. Even untrained, Elboron and Eldun, born Elured and Elurin, were a force to be reckoned with.

Eldun had hated Elboron's leaving for war. But they had reached an agreement - Elboron would go, but he would come back after. And he would never reveal who they were, or that they had lived. He would never bring their true fate back to the village, to threaten their dearly beloved foster family, including Eldun's new wife Eirian, who was Serenwen's best friend.

In his distraction, Elboron had missed the initial confrontation between his nephew Elrond and this "Nallos." And another healer had joined them. Bedwyr, the only healer whom Elboron truly trusted, because he, too, was from the village of Denethor's Rest.

"Hmm. Yes, there is contamination. A good catch, young Elrond." Bedwyr praised, one hand gently holding the shoulder of Serenwen, who was like a niece to Bedwyr.

"It is only a slight infection, Serenwen." Bedwyr continued reassuringly as Nallos grudgingly handed Elrond one unguent after another, "It will heal without troubling you greatly, my dear child. But to let it, you will have to remain here, in the healer's tent, for at least the next day. So that we can keep an eye on the wound, and make sure that it is well on the way to healing properly."

"Elrond," Nallos protested, "I was supposed to find you and bring you to Aran Ereinion. I was NOT supposed to get drafted by you to spend hours helping in the healer's tent."

"Shut up and hand me the disinfectant." Elrond said, his voice still calm and soothing, but his manner sharp enough to indicate that if Nallos didn't do as he was told, he would face the wrath of one Lord Elrond the Healer Apprentice, for whatever that was worth.

"We ARE going to talk about this later, Bratling." Nallos murmured softly, but he did hand Elrond the disinfectant. Elrond completely ignored him, which amused Elboron a little bit.

Instead, Elrond regarded Serenwen, his grey eyes soft with empathy. "The disinfectants will completely cleanse your wound, Serenwen. And then we will soothe it with herbs and unguents which promote healing, and wrap it lightly."

Serenwen nodded bravely. Elrond hesitated then, as did Elboron. Elboron wasn't about to let an elleth who was like his own little sister stay awake through the pain which would be this procedure. He would put her to sleep if he had to, just use his voice to command it. But he didn't want to do that in front of Elrond, who might notice that it was odd.

Fortunately, Elrond spared Elboron the decision. Elrond commanded in a sonorous voice, "Sleep, Serenwen. Sleep and feel no pain. Sleep and heal." Serwenwen's pale eyelashes fluttered shut, and her breathing became more regular, more peaceful. Only then did Elrond begin cleaning and dressing the wound. Elboron marveled a bit at how deft and careful this nephew of his was. Elrond Peredhel, only thirty-two years old, and already a healer. Eldun had been much the same, though not until his forties. And Elrond did have more human blood, besides. He looked almost a full grown man at thirty two, while Elboron and Eldun had not seemed full grown until their early forties.

Elrond and Bedwyr discussed the care instructions for Serenwen's wound, with Bedwyr agreeing to stay in the healer's tent and take another shift keeping an eye on Serenwen and some of the other wounded. It was at that point that the elf Nallos roughly grabbed Elrond's upper arm, as if to tug him away.

"You." Nallos said sternly, "Should be ashamed of yourself. You are three hours late to meet your King, and you have treated his messenger - me- quite shamefully, besides."

"You." Elrond countered twisting aside slightly, "Must keep your voice down in this healing tent, or I will by Eru have you removed, and banned from entry for the foreseeable future."

Bedwyr chuckled. "You had better listen to the lad, Nallos Canyavasion. He'd do it."

Nallos was the next thing to fuming, which improved Elboron's mood a bit. He hadn't liked how the Noldorin soldier had been standing beside Elrond complaining, and not seeming to care at all about poor injured Serenwen right there in front of them. Elboron also liked that his nephew had a bit of a spark to him. Elrond might have been taken in by Noldor, but they hadn't entirely made him soft, or uncaring of other elves. Elboron might even be able to LIKE Elrond. Which would be nice, for his sister's sake. Even if it made his "not let on that I'm your uncle" plan a bit harder.

Mouth agape, Nallos happened to accidentally look at Serenwen. Really look at her.

"Dancing Naked Valar! She's an elleth!"

"Your powers of observation are truly stunning." Elrond replied, with a quelling frown, "In fact, how does the Enemy ever get past you?"

"Behave, Elrond." Bedwyr scolded, turning more sympaethically to Nallos, "Yes, she is the niece of my heart. She trained in the arts of combat to protect our village, and then came to join the war as soon as she was of age."

"Ellith have no place in the ugliness of battle!" Nallos objected, horrified.

Elrond smirked, "I will PAY YOU to say that in front of Aunt Galadriel." Nallos paled.

Wincing, Elboron added sotto voice, "Not enough." It could never be enough. Elboron - Elured - did not have many memories of his Aunt Galadriel. But one did not tell her than an elleth couldn't do something. One just didn't.

"Still, what a brave elleth." Nallos said, looking at Serenwen with wonder and admiration. Then he nodded decisively, "I will stay with her, Elrond. You may take Captain Saryando with you, and explain to Ereinion yourself why you are so tardy replying to his summons."

Elrond didn't seem at all intimidated by that prospect, although Elboron wasn't sure if he like the idea. He did not want to leave his friend Serenwen alone with this idiot of a Noldor soldier. Well, and Bedwyr. In retrospect, Bedwyr could probably handle the idiot, and Elboron needed to sleep. He hadn't slept in days, and he couldn't do that without suffering. He wasn't fully an elf, and sometimes that mattered. Bedwyr knew it, and was covering for him. It was a covert message for Elboron to go and get some sleep, and if Elboron didn't take the hint, then Bedwyr and Fion would hold him to account for it, later.

Elboron nodded stiffly. "Take care of her." He commanded Bedwyr.

The old healer rolled his eyes tolerantly, "Of course, Elboron. Do get some sleep."

Elboron was almost to the exit of the tent when one of those patients who had looked perfectly fine suddenly started spewing vast quantities of blood onto the floor.

"Vampire bites can be tricky." Remarked Elrond, from just behind Elboron's right shoulder.

Elboron felt a bit guilty, for having verbally abused Elrond and the other healers for caring for such apparently hale elves before Serenwen, when apparently their status could go from stable to possibly bleeding out in a matter of seconds. His nephew, meanwhile, had moved to the heaving patient's side. Calmly, competently, Elrond helped two other healers to ease some kind of mask over the face of the vampire-bitten elf. At first the mask just filled up with blood, and they had to hold it there. But then the fumes from the herbs being burnt in a pot attached to the mask by a pipe started to take effect, and the vampire-bitten elf relaxed. Elboron watched in horrified wonder as Elrond and the other healers set to cleaning the poor elf up, evaluating how much blood he'd lost, and their best estimations as to what his future care would entail.

Only when that conference was over did Elboron notice a shadow behind Elrond's shoulder. A shadow, a mirror-image of Elrond. Elrond writ somehow fiercer and lighter all at once. The average elf or man might have thought the two beings perfectly identical, but Elured was also part-elven, part-human, part-maiar, and had a twin of his own. To Elboron, Elrond and Elros were at least as dissimilar as Elboron and Eldun, and possibly even more so. In the future, Elboron would instantly be able to identify whichever twin nephew he happened across with perfect accuracy.

"Come on, gwanur-nin." The fiercer Elros insisted, hooking his arm around Elrond's with a soft smile that was just for Elrond, just for Elrond being safe and sane and hale after the day's battle and its aftermath. A smile just for Elros being glad to see his Elrond. In that moment, Elboron felt the pain of missing his own twin intensely, like a knife through to his heart.

Elboron stood still for an instant, and so he crossed the threshold of the healing tent out into the anonymous night at almost the same time as his twin nephews. He wasn't going to address them. He was grateful for Elrond's competent and kind care of Serenwen, but he did not want to get to know them. But he couldn't help himself.

Against his own will, Elboron called out, "You are the Peredhil?

With a tired grin, Elros asked, "How many other sets of part-human, part-elven, part maiar twins do you know wandering about Middle Earth?" Under his breath, Elros added, "Who are foolishly not permitted to join in the fighting even though they are well more than of age for part-elves."

With an affectionate, chiding look for his brother Elros, Elrond answered, "Yes, soldier Elboron, we are the Peredhil."

"And being Peredhel," Elros quipped, "We need to sleep. Even you, gwanur."

Elrond rolled his eyes, and Elboron dared to bring up the subject he had promised himself he would not.

"Forgive me," Elboron began, "I just wanted to ask - you were both fostered by the sons of Feanor?"

His twin nephews exchanged a speaking look, before turning to regard Elboron again, this time with sympathy in the depths of their bright gray eyes.

"You are Iathrim?" Elrond asked.

Elboron's chest ached as he admitted, "Yes."

The twins nodded, and apparently decided to answer the question. "We were fostered by Maglor." Elros said. "He found us, and took us with him, after the attack on Sirion."

"Arguably," Elrond added quietly, neutrally, "he saved our lives. He certainly assured our survival."

Elros made a rude noise. "Personally, I think we could have survived just fine, at least until someone came to check on what happened to Sirion."

Elrond shrugged, an eminently human gesture, "We might have, Elros. Or we might have not. Others of Maglors' elves might have killed us on sight, and there were orcs, and outlaw humans about as well."

"And don't forget the landsharks." Elros added, with an impish grin.

Elrond rolled his eyes, "I've told you and told you, Elros, that it was just a tale the older mariners came up with, to keep elflings and little children away from the water when there were no adults..."

"Come on." Elros disagreed, reaching forward to shove Elrond lightly, "You were more scared of landsharks than I, in the cave by Sirion."

Elrond, changing the subject, "Maglor was kind to us, Elboron. And later, Maedhros allowed us his protection as well. That kept us safe for the few months before our return to the custody of Lord Cirdan could be arranged.

Elboron was overwhelmed. He took a ragged breath, and managed, "I am glad that you lived. Glad that you aided Serenwen, this night. But why? Why did the monstrous sons of Feanor save the two of you, after Doriath? After Sirion?

Elrond and Elros shrugged, and said "We don't know." In perfect unison.

Elrond leaned forward a bit, and added, "Maglor's own twin brothers died at Sirion. Perhaps that was why."

"Perhaps he admired my crayfish catching technique. I was quite the little outdoorsman. I'd have taken me home, too." Elros jested.

Elboron reccoiled back at that inappropriate levity. The sons of Feanor had killed his parents, these children's grandparents and kin and friends, and yet Elros saw it as a light enough matter to be fit to joke about? Perhaps this was the type of weakness, in his twin nephews, which had led them to speak in favor of the Feanorions being invited to join the allied armies in the War of Wrath.

"How could you joke like that?" Elboron whispered after a moment, "The sons of Feanor, they...they were monsters. Worse than orcs. How can you make jests, about such foul, traitorous, murderous, scum?

Elrond and Elros exchanged another speaking look, and in this one, Elboron could read sorrow and sympathy and pain.

'Twas Elrond who spoke at last, "The sons of Feanor and their followers were just elves. Like other elves, or men, for that matter. Never all good or all bad."

Elros, ferocity entering his tone, picked up the narrative, "Celegorm, for instance, was said to be kind to his hounds." Elros quailed a bit, as he saw Elboron's growing annoyance with his jests. Sobering, Elros explained further, "Look, some of their followers knew nothing of the kinslayings until after they occurred. Some of the kinslayers were loving fathers and brothers to their own families, who never knew them for killers. Others were ... twisted. Not unlike orcs, I suppose. But I've known elves who weren't sons of Feanor, who have become just as twisted by war and loss as any of the Feanorions."

"I, too." Agreed Elrond, "And there were some amongst the Feanorions who were kind to us. For instance, Maglor did not like making war on children or elflings, although he did do so. And Maedhros was much the same."

"'Twas servants of Celegorm's who left our twin uncles to die in the wilderness." Elros explained, that ferocity darkening his eyes, "Maedhros actually looked for them, and would have saved them, as well, had he found them."

Elboron took a deep breath, shocked. Celeborm's servants he remembered, could never forget. And his nephews were angry, on his behalf, nay, furious even, that the servants of Celegorm should have treated their lost uncles so. And if what Elrond and Elros said was true, then the entreaties and promises of Maedhros Feanorion had been true. He would have found Elured and Elurin, and kept them safe from his brothers. He would in time have delivered them to their Great Uncle Cirdan, who could have returned them to Uncle Amdir. Elboron had to fight back tears, at realizing that might have been his future. Safe with their beloved kin. And it only would have taken one moment of trust. One moment of trust that they had had no reason to feel.

But...but what if it still hadn't been true. What if the sons of Feanor had just said so, to Elrond and Elros. Why wouldn't they make that up? Why had they taken in his twin nephews in the first place? Elboron still hadn't heard a real answer, to that question. But still, Elboron could hear now, quite clealry in his memories, the sound of a firm, determined, but not unkind voice calling for Elured and Elurin in apparent desperation. Elured and Elurin had been so scared, by then, and the birds had seemed to know where they were going, that the twins had hidden, and fled, and kept on fleeing. Softly, still feeling the weight of all of those memories, all of those what-ifs, Elboron asked, "How can anyone know, that Maedhros would have saved Elured and Elurin? And why did Maglor save you? They killed so many...and there were children, I'm told, among the dead at Sirion. Other than the two of you."

Elrond nodded solemnly, "There were."

Finding himself furious, Elboron snapped, "And yet still, some of the Noldor -and you, the two of you who should KNOW BETTER - you would invite the sons of Feanor to fight beside us!

"Well, we could use them." Elros said, straightforward and irritated, a soldier down to talking brass tacks. He spoke like a logistician setting up his board, "We got our earliest lessons in tactics and strategy from Maglor, and for a harper, he made quite the soldier. Maedhros...he's the best soldier I think I've ever met. He could think like Morgoth. Predict what the Enemy's lieutenants would do."

Very softly, Elrond added, "We think fewer of us would die, if the sons of Feanor were helping to plan this campaign. Eonwe, Ingwion, and Finarfin are brave, capable, and well-intentioned, but their tactics and strategy are a bit dated."

Elros made a rude noise. "You're being tactful again, Elrond gwanur-nin. Eonwe's training is dated, and cousin Ingwion, Uncle Finarfin, and most of the elves who came with the Valar may be powerful, but in terms of training for actual battles, they received Finrod Felagund's "Quick Lessons in War," and not much else. Honestly, the blunders they made during the first decade alone..."

Elrond nudged his brother, and Elros shook his head, dropping the subject.

Elboron was still appalled, "How...how could we trust them? The sons of Feanor, who killed other elves for a ...a thing, and might again, as soon as we win?

Elros shrugged, "Well, its not our decision."

Not to be defeated by such shoddy logic, Elboron snorted, and countered, "And if it was?"

Elrond blinked, "I ...I ...don't know. I understand why some elves hate them, could never fight beside them."

Elros was more thoughtful now, too, "I don't know either, actually. I could fight by Maglor and Maedhros, and their gwedyr, and some of the others, but not beside all of their retainers and servants. There was a reason we got ourselves shipped off to Uncle Cirdan, but quick."

Elboron's eyes narrowed at that. He didn't like the idea of anyone hurting his nephews. The ones he wasn't going to let himself become close to.

Elrond sighed, "Some of their elves are quite kind, or at least as good as any other elves you'll meet. Others lack the redeeming qualities of the oldest sons of Feanor."

Elboron could sense a story - and part of him wanted to ask - but he still couldn't believe. "You love him? They say that you came to love Maglor?"

Elros made a face, and even Elrond's full lips puckered up into a moue of distaste. But to Elboron's surprise, their upset was not at the accusation of lbearing love for a son of Feanor. Rather, it was at the elves and men gossiping about them behind their backs.

"We should find out who this "they" is, gwanur-nin, who always speaks of us." Elros said, mischievous, wicked ideas for retaliation dancing in his eyes.

Elrond rolled his eyes. "The fun of being the Peredhil." Then he looked at Elboron measuringly, eyes searching. After a few moments, Elrond looked to Elros, communicating silently yet again. In that moment, Elboron missed his own twin again.

After another moment, Elros explained in a serious but gentle tone of voice "We came to love Maglor, yes. But we hated him too."

Elrond continued, "We never forgot that he saved us and was kind to us. And we honor him, and owe him, for that. But we also never forgot that it was he whose sword slayed our friends and neighbors, and our kinsmen."

"Part of us would like to see him and Maedhros find some measure of redemption, by helping to defeat Morgoth." Explained Elros.

"But part of us never wants to see him again, or think of him either." Elrond concluded, his grey eyes burdened with sorrow.

"I...I thank you for your time." Elboron said, swallowing back both a sob and a recrimination, "And I am very sorry to have made you remember unpleasant things."

His twin nephews exchanged another searching look, then nodded. Turning to face Elboron, the twins replied.

"We do not speak of these things often."

"But we will speak of them with you again, if you wish it."

And then the twins walked off into the night, in the direction of the brightly lit tents of Ereinion Gil-Galad. There, many of their kin gathered, and there would be good, warm food, and kind, loving company.

Elboron walked quietly off in the direction of the tent he shared with a dozen or so other Laiquendi who were fighting with the Falathrim units. The tent was quiet, too, when he arrived, and not really warm. But he struck up the brazier, and it got a bit warmer. And his friends Fion and Drystan woke up enough to make room for him between their bodies. Snugly covered by blankets, buffered by the warm body of a caring friend on either side of him, Elboron slid safely on to the path of dreams. It wasn't a wide, luxurious tent with his long-lost kin. But it was not a bad place to be, either. And while Celeborn and Amdir and even his little twin nephews talked long into the night of strategies and numbers, Elboron could sleep the sweet peaceful slumber of the soldier who needn't bother with any of that. Which was wonderful, except sometimes, Elured really did want to have a say in all of that. But Eldun didn't, and Elboron owed his twin. So he'd keep his peace, and enjoy his sleep.

9


End file.
